


Tastes Like Love

by almostafantasia



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Domesticity, F/F, Killing Eve Week 2020, Villanelle the Perfect Girlfriend, drunk!eve, ft. grilled cheese sandwich, set in an alternate universe where Villanelle doesn't kill and the MI6 gang are all still alive, though the details are irrelevant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:33:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26397214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/almostafantasia/pseuds/almostafantasia
Summary: Eve comes home slightly tipsy from a night of karaoke with the gang and wants nothing more than a grilled cheese sandwich. Luckily for her, the best girlfriend-slash-chef ever is on hand to help her out.
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 16
Kudos: 247
Collections: Killing Eve Week 2020





	Tastes Like Love

Villanelle is awoken by a deafening crash downstairs.

Her first thought is that the bastard cat from next door must have found a way to break into their house to wreak havoc in the kitchen again. It wouldn’t be the first time it has happened, but Villanelle is certain that she didn’t leave any windows open when she came up to bed, and she doubts that even that dastardly beast is clever enough to have dug a secret passage between its home and this one.

As she wakes up properly and notices that the other side of the bed is still empty, Villanelle realises that Eve is a much more likely explanation for the noise than a particularly villainous cat.

Villanelle rolls out of bed and slips her arms into the silk tiger-print robe that hangs on the back of the bedroom door. She makes her way down the stairs, creeping on silent tiptoes to maintain the element of surprise just in case it _is_ the cat causing mischief. But when she reaches the bottom of the stairs, she sees a pair of Eve’s shoes discarded haphazardly by the front door, then a coat and a bag a little further down the hallway, all leading to the kitchen, where a glow of light shines through the slightly ajar door.

The final confirmation that it is Eve who has woken her up rather than a cat or any other intruder, comes from the sound of something else clattering in the kitchen, followed by a barely audible, “Shitballs!”

Villanelle smiles to herself as she wanders towards the kitchen. Eve always gets more foul-mouthed when her inhibitions are lowered by alcohol.

When she gets to the kitchen Villanelle stops in the doorway to survey the scene before her. The source of the crashing is immediately obvious - a large frying pan that lies out of place on the tiled floor. Eve has her back to Villanelle, crouched down beside the open fridge as she rummages around inside for something.

“Come on,” Eve mutters to herself, oblivious to the presence of an amused girlfriend behind her. “Where’s the damn-?”

“Need help?”

Eve lets out a yelp when Villanelle finally speaks up, and there is another clatter as Eve knocks something else over inside the fridge in her haste to turn around, brandishing something in her hand like a weapon - wait, is that a _carrot?_

Eve stares for a few seconds, wide eyes full of fear, before she lets her shoulders slump down as she realises that it is only Villanelle.

“It’s you, thank god.”

“Who else would it be?”

Eve places the carrot down on the counter, next to an assortment of other fridge items that Villanelle has only just noticed.

“I don’t know,” she answers. “Next door’s cat?”

Villanelle eyes up the carrot, which is about six inches long and slightly crooked. In a kitchen full of dangerous objects, it’s not an obvious choice of weapon for self-defence.

“I’m not sure that a carrot would do much to stop that furry little shit,” Villanelle points out.

“I panicked, okay?” says Eve, turning around to look in the fridge again. “Maybe I could have thrown it at their head to buy myself enough time to shout for you before the creature mauled me. Oh, for fuck’s sake, where is the goddamn cheese?”

Taking a few steps forward to get to the fridge, Villanelle stands behind Eve and reaches over her to pluck a packet of grated cheese off the top shelf, the exact spot where the cheese is always kept.

“Is this what you’re looking for?” she asks, holding the packet up for Eve to see.

“Yes! Thank you! You’re the best!”

“I know I am,” Villanelle agrees. She wraps her arms around Eve from behind and nuzzles her face into the exposed skin of Eve’s neck. “How was your evening?”

Eve sinks back into Villanelle’s familiar embrace and answers, “It was good. We went straight from the office to the pub, then onto a karaoke bar.”

“You did karaoke?”

Eve nods.

“Hugo dragged me up onto the stage to sing _Sweet Caroline_ with him.”

Villanelle smiles at the thought, wishing that she could have been there to see it.

“Sounds like you had fun,” she says.

“I did, but in all the excitement we never actually had dinner.”

Villanelle spins Eve around in her arms until they are face to face, carefully placing the cheese down on the counter beside them so that she has both hands free to drape her arms around Eve’s neck.

“Baby, you can’t even cook when you’re sober,” she points out, smirking down at Eve as one of her hands loosens the elastic holding Eve’s hair out of her face. “It’s a good thing that you woke me up so I can stop you burning down the house with your drunk cooking attempts.”

“I’m not … I didn’t have _that_ much to drink,” whines Eve. “But what I did have might have gone straight to my head because there’s nothing in my stomach to soak it up.”

“What are you making?”

“Grilled cheese, maybe?”

Villanelle leans her head down to give Eve a tender kiss, then murmurs against Eve’s lips, “Sit down. Let me. There’s less risk of a fire hazard if I do it.”

“That’s rude,” says Eve, snaking her arms around Villanelle’s waist to pull their bodies yet closer together. “But also yes please. With extra cheese?”

“One grilled cheese with extra cheese coming right up,” Villanelle promises.

She presses another quick kiss to Eve’s lips, because she will never quite be over the fact that she gets to be the person who kisses Eve whenever she likes, no matter how long they have been together, then extracts herself from Eve’s arms so that she can pick the pan up off the floor and assemble the other ingredients.

“How was your work thing?”

_“So_ boring,” groans Villanelle, rolling her eyes for dramatic effect, though even that doesn’t quite do justice to the tedium of her afternoon. She rinses the pan in the sink as she continues, “Konstantin is an arsehole.”

“What did he do this time?” Eve asks, as she takes a seat at the kitchen table.

“He scheduled a three hour meeting with a man who wore brown shoes with a black suit! Can you believe it?”

Villanelle turns to Eve, hoping to see similar outrage reflected on her girlfriend’s face. Instead, Eve’s eyebrows are creased together in a frown and she hesitates before she answers.

“Uh, no, That’s … that’s wild.”

“And then this man,” continues Villanelle, gesticulating wildly with the now clean frying pan still in her hand, “Anton - what an annoying name - had the audacity to mansplain basic economics to me. As if I would ever take financial advice from a baboon who can’t even dress himself!”

Eve has an expression of deep concentration on her face, as if it is taking all her effort to listen devotedly to Villanelle’s complaints, as she nods in agreement and says, “Absolutely disgraceful.”

Villanelle tilts her head to the side, Anton and his irritating ways pushed to the back of her mind as she grins at Eve.

“You’re so cute when you’re drunk.”

“I’m not dru-”

“Okay, correction,” interjects Villanelle, flinging open the drawer next to her left hip and rummaging around until she locates a butter knife. “You’re so cute when you’re pretending that you aren’t drunk.”

“And you’re so cute when you’re making me a sandwich.” Eve grins optimistically at Villanelle, eyebrows raised, then adds as an afterthought, “Please? With lots of cheese?”

Villanelle turns on one of the oven rings and then takes two slices of bread, buttering one side of each as she waits for the pan to heat up.

“You’re lucky that I like you so much,” Villanelle teases, dropping the bread butter-side down in the pan.

“I am,” agrees Eve, with an enthusiastic nod. “So lucky. You’re the best girlfriend-slash-chef ever!”

Laughing softly under her breath, Villanelle murmurs, more to herself than to Eve, “I am going to have so much fun reminding you that you said that when you wake up with a sore head tomorrow.”

Villanelle sprinkles a generous helping of cheese onto one of the slices of bread, more than enough to satisfy Eve’s ‘extra cheese’ request, then grabs a clean glass and fills it with cold water from the sink.

“Drink this,” she tells Eve, setting the water down in front of her as the pan sizzles in the background. “You’ll thank me for it tomorrow.”

“Hold on,” says Eve, sliding the chair back with an unpleasant screech against the tiles floor so that she has enough space to stand up. “I need to pee.”

As Eve dashes out of the kitchen to use the bathroom, Villanelle turns her full attention to the pan. The cheese is melting nicely and Villanelle uses a spatula to flip the empty slice of bread on top of the sandwich. She uses the flat of the spatula to press down on the bread, which causes some of the cheese to ooze out of the sides of the sandwich and hit the scalding metal of the pan with a satisfying hiss.

It only takes a few minutes for the sandwich to finish toasting, during which Villanelle flips it over so that it browns evenly on both sides.

“I’m back!” Eve announces, returning to the kitchen just as Villanelle switches off the heat and uses the spatula to carefully lift the sandwich out of the pan and onto a waiting plate. “Oh my god, that looks amazing!”

Villanelle cuts the sandwich in half and then carries it over to Eve, who immediately drops into one of the chairs at the kitchen table like an obedient child who has been promised ice cream for dessert if they behave and eat their dinner first. Villanelle has barely set the plate down in front of Eve when she reaches for one half of the sandwich, leaving a stringy trail of melted cheese connecting the two halves as she lifts it to her mouth to take a huge bite.

Villanelle’s eyes widen as Eve’s teeth sink into the sandwich, and she issues a warning that comes just a second too late.

“Careful, it’s-”

“Hot!” gasps Eve, sucking in air through the sides of her mouth as she drops the sandwich back onto the plate and fans her mouth with her hand.

Villanelle takes a seat opposite Eve and nudges the glass of water towards her, which Eve picks up gratefully and uses to wash down the mouthful of scalding cheese.

“I’ve never understood why these are called _grilled_ cheese sandwiches,” says Villanelle, watching as Eve takes another much smaller bite. “You don’t grill them. It should be a fried cheese sandwich.”

With her voice slightly muffled by the chewed up sandwich caught in her cheeks, Eve says, “Here in the UK they call them toasties.”

“Toasties? That’s so cute, but just as ridiculous.”

“I don’t name them, I just eat them,” Eve says, shrugging as she swallows. Villanelle watches as Eve takes another mouthful, sinking back in her chair as the melted cheese hits her tongue. “Mmmm. This is so good. It tastes like love.”

Villanelle actually snorts, and she is pleased that Eve appears to be too engrossed in her sandwich to notice the ugly noise that leaves she makes.

“Baby, that is one of the stupidest things you have ever said,” says Villanelle, reaching out across the table to lay her hand on top of Eve’s free one. “And also the cutest.”

As she finishes the first half of the sandwich, Eve gestures to what is left on the plate, before she asks, “Can I take this up to bed with me?”

“No,” Villanelle answers, with a decisive shake of her head.

“Why not?”

“Because if you get crumbs on my silk sheets then I’m breaking up with you and then you’ll never get another one of these sandwiches. Is that a risk you want to take?”

Eve’s eyes go wide, as if the prospect is simply too terrible to even consider, and she shakes her head.

“No, please.”

Villanelle reaches out to cup Eve’s jaw, then pinches Eve’s cheek between her thumb and forefinger.

“Good, because I would be heartbroken if that happened,” says Villanelle. Eve’s face softens predictably with a lovesick smile, almost as if she is a cartoon character with heart-shaped pupils, and Villanelle grins wickedly as she elaborates, “Those sheets were limited edition. They’re basically irreplacab- _ow!”_

Villanelle’s cry of pain comes as Eve smacks her on the thigh.

“What’s irreplacable, Villanelle?” Eve asks, arching an eyebrow, though the stern look she is clearly trying to give Villanelle is offset by the way that one of her hands creeps over to the sandwich on the plate and lifts it to her mouth for another bite.

If Eve wasn’t a little bit drunk, if she wasn’t so goddamn _adorable,_ Villanelle would draw it out and tease her further, but it’s hard to concentrate on anything other than the bite of sandwich Eve takes as the gooey cheese stretches out between what’s in her mouth and what remains in her hand.

“You’re irreplacable, baby. Always you.”

**Author's Note:**

> @almostafantasia on tumblr and twitter


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